


like lovers do

by ericdire (aarobron)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: 5 Times, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27041146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/ericdire
Summary: The first time Virgil meets Jordan, it’s –– not how you would expect it to go.
Relationships: Virgil van Dijk/Jordan Henderson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	like lovers do

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! this is based off the prompt 'odd socks'.
> 
> happy reading! feedback always appreciated xxxx

**_i._ **

The first time Virgil meets Jordan, it’s –– not how you would expect it to go.

Dejan likes to throw parties to introduce the new signings properly, and Jordan only goes to make sure things don't get too out of hand. He seen the routes that several of Dejan’s parties can go down, and none of them are much of an appealing option for slap bang in the middle of one of their busiest periods of the season.

He hasn’t met Virgil yet. He definitely should have and he wanted to, but he’s got a niggly little problem with his thigh and it won’t go away. He’s spending more time than he cares for in the recovery room, having scans and tests and running on a treadmill with all those wires attached to him, so he wasn’t there when Virgil turned up.

It’s okay, though. He’s got the party to look forward to.

It’s already in full swing when he gets there. He can hear the music from well up the driveway (thankfully Dejan lives at least a mile away from his nearest neighbours), and Joe is sitting on the front doorstep, face lit up blue by the screen of his phone.

“Hi,” he says when he notices Jordan, smiling easily up at him. He’s already a little bit tipsy by the looks of it, eyes bright but glazed, and Jordan makes a mental note of making sure he doesn’t get too bad.

“Hey, you,” Jordan says, squishing onto the step next to Joe. He’s a little bit nervous about going in, to be honest. He might have a mouth on him, but he’s always been a tiny bit shy. “Who you texting?” 

“Tamara,” Joe says. His face goes from warm to _warm_ , the kind of look you get when you’re really, truly in love with someone. Jordan can’t remember what that feels like. “She’s just checking I’m having a good time.”

“Don’t let Trent catch you talking to your girlfriend when you’re meant to be with the lads,” Jordan says, tutting slightly. He’s smiling though, because he loves Joe and he likes Tamara and he knows that they’re perfect for each other. “You know what he’s like.”

“He’s a _baby_ , he doesn’t know what love is,” Joe huffs, despite the fact there’s barely two years between them. “Tamara completes me. She’s my other – better – half.”

No offence to Joe, but Jordan has never quite understood the concept of another human being completing him. He’s his own person, and he’s fine as he is, thank you very much.

“Well, make sure you enjoy yourself,” Jordan says, standing up. He ruffles Joe’s hair and laughs at the pout on the younger man’s face. “You’re here for a break, so make the most of it. No more booze though, alright?” 

“Yes, dad,” Joe says, but he’s grinning.

It’s a good job Jordan loves him.

.

Jordan likes Virgil. He’s nice, and funny, and interesting. He compliments Jordan’s leadership and in the same breath, makes a joke about just how loudly Jordan leads his team. He tells a story about the time he met Johan Cruyff when he was a kid, and then another, when he met him in 2014. 

(That, of course, has Adam hanging onto his every word).

Jordan likes him. Like, _really_ likes him – maybe even _likes_ him, and that’s honestly a lot to deal with because he hasn’t felt anything even close to this for a long, long time. 

He’s got a divorce and two kids under his belt, but one conversation with their brand new star player has got him feeling like a giggly little schoolgirl with a crush.

He’s never quite put a label on his sexuality (and even the very _thought_ of it makes his spine go all weird and hot and tingly), but before he met Bec he was with a man, and although it didn’t last long, it was fine.

Nobody cared. Or rather –– nobody that _Jordan_ cared about cared. He was happy and everyone who mattered was happy for him, too. 

So yes, he likes men. It’s something he hasn’t acknowledged a lot, but not by design. Purely an accident.

An accident. That’s all.

He doesn’t need to think about that now, though. Virgil is looking at him like he’s the only thing that matters, chin resting on his fist and eyes bright. Jordan hopes that they’re on the same page here, or it could get embarrassing. He _wants_.

God, he wants – and he hasn’t wanted in a long, long time. 

“Virg!” Trent shouts across the room, so drunk that he’s definitely crashing at Dejan’s tonight. Jordan can’t even bring himself to be mad – he’s just glad that Virgil and Trent are already well acquainted. Well enough for nicknames, anyway. “Are you wearing odd socks?” 

“Oh,” Virgil says, cheeks going a bit pink. He looks down at where his jeans are just riding above his ankles, odd socks on show, and Jordan grins. One has red dots, one has blue. Jordan thinks they’re sweet. “I still haven’t unpacked properly yet. Or – at all. And... these were the only socks I could find. It’s all a bit overwhelming.” 

“Hendo will come over and help you unpack,” Trent says distantly, tossing it out there like tiny bait for a great white shark. Jordan feels like the prey is staring him right in the face. “He’s a proper neat freak. He’ll help, won’t you, Jord?” 

“Oh, no, I don’t want to be a bother ––” Virgil starts.

Jordan decides to take the opportunity while he can.

“Of course I’ll help,” he says. He glances over at Trent and tries to ignore the smirk on his face – he’s not confirming nor denying anything at this point. Instead, he looks back at Virgil and smiles. “I mean, I wouldn’t call myself a neat freak, but I do like to make sure everything’s got a place. I’d be happy to help.”

“Great,” Virgil says, beaming so wide dimples form in his cheeks. “It’s a date, then.” 

Jordan can’t hear anything else other than the pounding of his own heart.

_**ii.** _

If Jordan thought his feelings for Virgil would slow down, he’s wrong.

He accepted it, at first. Thought it was just a crush and that he’d forget about it when he got to know him properly. That’s how it usually goes, isn’t it? You meet someone and you fancy them based on looks alone, and then you talk to them, dive into their personality, and realise that you’re better off as friends?

Well. The problem here is that the further Jordan gets into Virgil’s personality, the more he wants him. 

It’s weird. It’s really, truly fucking strange and Jordan can’t get his head around it because Jordan is Jordan and Virgil is the complete opposite of him. He’s never stressed about anything and he’s so, so calm in situations that make Jordan want to cry. He’s impulsive, too – he doesn’t plan anything, and when Jordan does (usually things that are three months in advance), Virgil looks at him like he’s got three heads and then tears those plans up, figuratively speaking.

He’s different. 

He’s _everything_.

Fancying has turned into liking him, and even that’s turned into something a little more now. Jordan can’t quite put a name to the feeling, but it’s warm and soft and makes his chest feel tight, and he hasn’t yet decided if that’s a good thing or not. 

Okay, so he might be having a crisis. Just a small one – not even big enough to concern himself with, really.

But that’s a lie, and lying to himself is something he’s trying not to do as much right now, so. It’s a really fucking big crisis and he feels like he’s going to be stuck in it forever. He hasn’t spoken to Virgil for – days, god. It’s been days by now, probably almost two weeks, but he needs the breathing space. 

Every time he gets close to Virgil, all those thoughts start right back up again. 

Virgil has noticed. He hasn’t said anything but right now they’re the only two in the rehab room and Virgil is sitting on the furthest bed, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows knitted together in a frown as one of the physios works on his calf. He’s wearing odd socks again (even though Jordan sorted his sock drawer two weeks ago) and his cheeks are permanently stained pink.

Jordan looks away before he’s caught.

He’s not really sure what’s going on. He doesn’t know if Virgil feels the same, and if he asks him and he doesn’t then he’s going to feel like a right idiot, isn’t he? Okay, so Virgil said something about a date that first night and since then there’s been plenty of evenings spent together, watching football and eating food that Virgil cooked, but that’s –

Well, Virgil is new here. He has little to zero friends, and he’s alone. Jordan isn’t just going to let him suffer by himself. 

That’s all that was.

So what if Virgil doesn’t feel the same and Jordan’s ruined a lovely blossoming friendship, on the off chance that he might get his dick wet?

He can’t. He won’t risk it. 

.

Eventually, both physios duck out for a break. Jordan isn't sure how long for, because he wasn't listening. He's so frustrated it hurts, because the proximity to Virgil makes him feel like he's on fire but he also knows he can't go there. 

It is the worst thing he's ever felt.

“Jordan,” Virgil says quickly, suddenly. It surprises Jordan and his head snaps up, glancing over at Virgil and then away just as suddenly. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Jordan asks, frown etched into his face. “What for?”

“I, um – I’ve seen all those tweets saying that I should be captain over you,” Virgil says, staring down at his hands. His cheeks are so deeply red that it looks painful. “I don’t – it’s not my intention to take over from you. I don’t agree with them, just so you know. I think you’re an amazing captain.”

“Okay...?” Jordan says. He’s really not sure why they’re having this conversation.

“No, I mean it,” Virgil says. He looks determined. “I know that you think it’s some like, hate campaign or whatever, but it’s not. I really do think you’re an amazing captain and I care about you. I miss you. I miss your company and I don’t want you to ignore me over a misunderstanding. These past two weeks have been awful, not speaking to you.”

“You think... I’m not speaking to you because of some shitty comments on social media?” Jordan asks. It’s all starting to click into place now.

“I’ve been trying to figure it out for ages, and that’s the only thing I could think of,” Virgil insists. He looks like he’s on the brink of tears, and Jordan’s entire body softens. “I hate it! I hate it, alright? Because I really like you and I don’t want to ruin things because of some stupid little trolls ––”

“Oh, Virgil,” Jordan breathes, easing himself off the bed and scooting across the room. He squishes onto the edge of the bed next to Virgil, pressed in so tight that their shoulders are bumping, and smiles at him. “That’s not why I’ve been ignoring you.”

“So you _have_ been ignoring me then,” Virgil says gravely.

“Yeah, I have,” Jordan confirms, and then feels really, truly awful about it. “But it’s only because I like you too. _Really_ like you. And it’s scary because I’m a 28-year-old divorcee with two kids under 5 and I honestly don’t remember what it’s like to have these brand new, kind of terrifying butterflies for someone. But you make me feel them. And you make me feel them every single day, and I have a slight inkling they’re not going away any time soon so I may as well make the most of it.”

“By make the most of it, you mean...?” Virgil asks.

“Yeah,” Jordan confirms, and that’s all he can get out before Virgil is curling a hand around his cheek and kissing him.

It’s a gentle kind of kiss. He thought he was over all of his firsts but this one is so special. Virgil tastes like sweet, sugary coffee and something indescribable that makes Jordan yearn, and he leans into the kiss, into Virgil’s warmth, and feels his entire world change right in front of him.

He pulls back with a gasp and then finds himself tucked into a hug, a tender one that makes a lump grow in his throat. It might be stupid but this feels like he’s just opened a new chapter of his life. He feels like things have changed.

He opens his eyes and sees Trent through the window, pressed against the glass and grinning.

He can’t even bring himself to be mad.

He smiles right back instead.

_**iii.** _

“Wardrobe came this morning,” Virgil says. His tone is conversational, but that means he wants something. Jordan knows him too well by now.

“That’s nice,” Jordan comments. He wants to see how far this is going to go.

To be honest, secretly – he’ll never admit it – he is a little bit excited about the wardrobe. He’s been helping Virgil decorate for a little over a month now and he helped to choose all the furniture, so it’s nice to see it all come together. 

It’s nice to play a part in the space that Virgil is creating just for himself.

“Will you come and help me build it?” Virgil asks, fluttering his eyelashes innocently. Jordan is always going to say yes, but it doesn’t hurt to drag it out a bit.

“That depends,” Jordan hums, placing his hand on Virgil’s thigh and dragging it up slowly. It’s worth it to see the way his chinks go pink, gaze flicking between their teammates. Virgil’s tried to explain a dozen times just how much he fancies Jordan, but he never gets his point across as well as he does when they’re sitting in the canteen at Melwood. “What do I get out of it?”

Virgil goes silent, considering.

“Hundreds of kisses – all my appreciation,” he says, leaning in close to Jordan’s space. He puts a hand on the older man’s cheek and turns his head, faces close enough that their noses brush. “Plus I’m sure I can think of some _other_ ways to thank you.” 

“Hmm,” Jordan grumbles playfully. “I’ll do it for all that plus a Chinese.”

“Deal,” Virgil says, stealing a quick little peck. He pulls away with a grin and clears his throat, cheeks still red but slowly going back to a normal colour. 

Jordan’s heart feels like it’s on fire.

.

“Can you –– _please_ –” Jordan says, taking a deep breath. He feels like he’s seconds away from stomping his foot.

“What?” Virgil asks, not even glancing up. He’s barely holding onto the piece he’s got in his hand, and Jordan is terrified that the whole fucking wardrobe is going to collapse.

To be honest, it’s a stretch to call it a wardrobe. It’s just a shell, a few pieces of wood held together by the least convincing of wooden doweling, and Virgil has made Jordan stand right in the very middle of it and hold it together.

"Can you just read the instructions, Virgil?" Jordan says, huffing slightly. His face is twisted into a big grumpy frown and he knows it - he doesn't need to see the smile Virgil is trying to hide to know that. 

"I _am_ reading the instructions," Virgil says, completely indignant.

"You just tried to force two parts together that clearly don't fit!" Jordan says. He’s bordering on hysterical now, and it's not even funny anymore. It’s painful to watch Virgil try and build this poor, poor wardrobe.

"Why are you so bothered about this!?" Virgil asks. Jordan wants to wipe that smirk off his face (in a nice way, of course).

"Because I don't want you to break your brand new wardrobe three minutes after you took it out the box?" Jordan says like it's obvious. To him, it is. "Or maybe it's because I am standing right in the middle of it and if it all collapses - which honestly would not surprise me - then I'll be the one getting hurt!?"

"Pedantics," Virgil says, grin widening when he sees Jordan's cheeks go an even darker shade of red. 

"You're a prick," Jordan spits.

"I know," Virgil says. His voice goes so soft that Jordan isn't sure if they're still having the same conversation. "I love you."

Jordan forgets what they’re talking about entirely. He forgets why he’s pissed off, why he’s holding this wardrobe up with all of his force, why he’s even _here_. All that matters is Virgil’s smile and the words he’s just said. 

“I love you too,” Jordan breathes. Virgil’s entire face lights up and he steps over the front panel of the wardrobe to place his hands on Jordan’s face, drawing him in for a deep, heated kiss. 

When he pulls back, Virgil is smiling, a tiny secretive little thing that Jordan is glad he gets to share with him. It’s a moment he’s going to remember for the rest of his life.

“Now can you take hold of this wardrobe, please?” Jordan asks sweetly. “Because – no offence. I love you, but you’re awful at this.”

“Say it again,” Virgil hums, holding the wardrobe up.

“You’re awful at this,” Jordan repeats, stepping away and hiding his grin.

“No – the other thing!” Virgil shouts, but Jordan is already heading out of the room to put the kettle on.

_**iiii.** _

“Hey,” Virgil hums, stepping close into Jordan’s space and stealing a kiss. They’re still on the pitch but training is over, and Jordan can’t quite bring himself to care about the few stragglers left over. Let them enjoy the show, he thinks. “How are you?”

“The same as when you asked me half an ago – but a few degrees colder,” Jordan says, tilting his chin up for another kiss. Virgil obliges, gloved hands a spot of warmth where they’re holding onto Jordan’s waist. “What’s gotten into you today?” 

“Nothing,” Virgil says, swaying them both on the spot. It’s far too suspicious though, and now Jordan knows there’s something going on. He raises an eyebrow and Virgil sighs. “Alright, I was just wondering if you fancied coming round tonight? And... maybe you could stay?” 

“Stay the night?” Jordan says. He tilts his head and his mouth twists into a smile.

“If you want,” Virgil says. He sounds uncertain, but he shouldn’t. Jordan is always going to say yes. “We’re off tomorrow so we can sleep in, and then I’ll make us pancakes and we can lounge about all day. But –– it’s up to you.”

“I’d love to,” Jordan hums, watching a bright and beautiful smile blossom across Virgil’s face. He leans up and kisses it. “I’ll have to nip home and get some clothes though.”

“Or... you could wear some of mine,” Virgil suggests, looking expectant.

Jordan’s grin widens, and he kisses Virgil again to show his agreement.

.

Virgil cooks a proper three course meal and lights some candles. Jordan thinks that it’s probably the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him and he almost cries when he first tastes the pasta, because it’s incredible. Virgil has gone to all lengths to make sure this is special, and Jordan has never, ever loved anyone more. 

It’s nice. Especially when Virgil drags him into the shower (under false pretences, but that’s definitely something he can live with). Virgil spends most of it on his knees but he does cuddle Jordan after, arms wrapped around him in an all consuming type of way. The hug is warm even though the water is starting to go cold, and his cheeks are flushed when he kisses Jordan.

There are so many stark differences between the Virgil on the pitch and the one in Jordan’s arms. Alone, behind closed doors, he’s sweeter. Softer. Still a massive dork, but that’s why Jordan loves him.

They settle down to watch football, sated and soft on the inside. Virgil’s got a massive cinema room with a big comfy sofa, and Jordan bought him the softest blanket he’d ever felt in his life as a moving in present. It’s perfect, on rainy days like this. 

Sky Sports on, the smell of Virgil’s washing powder, the length of him stretched across the couch while the rain batters the window – this is probably the third best moment of Jordan’s life (after his kids being born, of course).

Virgil looks at him quizzically, but smiles, like he can almost tell what Jordan’s thinking. He doesn’t mind being easy to read right now.

He shrugs, cheeks pink.

“I love you,” he says, hushed like a secret, and watches the smile on Virgil’s face grow wider, cheeks dimpling.

It never gets old. 

“I love you too,” Virgil says, humming happily. He swings his feet up and puts them in Jordan’s lap, closing his eyes against the background of Gary Neville’s commentary. Jordan runs his thumb over the hem of his pyjamas (Superman, which Jordan thinks is hilarious, and has definitely teased him about three times already), knuckles brushing against the warm skin of his ankles. It’s nice. Domestic. 

But then his attention is dragged elsewhere.

“Are you wearing odd socks again?” Jordan asks, frowning. He organised that sock drawer _himself_. He knows that Virgil has plenty of pairs of matching socks. “What do you _do_ with them?”

“Oh,” Virgil says, cheeks flaming bright red. He sits up, pulling his feet out of Jordan’s lap, but the older man follows anyway, shifting close enough that he can drape himself over Virgil’s chest. “This is so embarrassing.”

“What is?” Jordan asks, resting his chin on his hand so he can look up at Virgil. They’re so close that he can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

Virgil closes his eyes briefly and sighs.

“When we first met, I was wearing odd socks. Do you remember?” He asks. Jordan nods, and Virgil continues. “Well, I felt... so _lucky_ that I met you, because I knew as soon as I saw you that you were going to be mine. I was so lucky, and I guess I just figured – the socks are my good luck charm. So every time I feel like I’m going to have a significant day, I wear odd socks.”

“When did you wear them?” Jordan asks, curious.

“The first time you kissed me. When I told you I loved you for the first time. And... today, when I asked you to stay,” Virgil sighs. “And then I put a pair of odd socks on after we showered.”

“And... you think the socks are what made all those things happen?” Jordan asks. He can’t stop his mouth from quirking up into a smile. He thinks it’s sweet.

“No! No, I know it wasn’t the socks. I know it’s us – it always has been, always will be,” Virgil says. He’s frowning now, and Jordan reaches up the smooth the line between his eyebrows out with his thumb. “But it’s like a safety net. I know they don’t do anything, but just in case things go wrong –– well, it doesn’t hurt, does it? It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. I just don’t want anything to ruin what we’ve got.”

“It’s not stupid – it’s really, really sweet,” Jordan says, stealing a quick kiss from Virgil. “You’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot. I love you so much.”

Virgil beams, cheeks red, and kisses him again.

_**iiiii.** _

When Jordan saw a text from Virgil pop up on the screen of his phone, he wasn’t expecting him desperately asking him to come over. 

It does, though, so he ends the video chat with his mum and stuffs his feet into his trainers. It’s gone seven and he honestly just wanted to go bed, but at least if he’s going to Virgil’s he’ll get to go to bed all sated and warm, curled up to the man he loves. 

He promises that he’ll only be ten minutes and pushes the speed limit the entire drive there, although he doesn’t know why. The air seems charged, electric. Maybe this is what Virgil meant to by significance.

Virgil opens the door before Jordan’s even had time to knock properly and pulls him in for a hug, planting a sloppy kiss to his cheek.

“Hey, you,” Jordan laughs slightly, struggling out of Virgil’s grip just so he can look at his face. He looks fine – no scrapes or bruises, and he’s smiling, so. It can’t be that bad. “What is it? What’s so urgent?”  


“Sit down, come on,” Virgil says, dragging Jordan in the direction of the living room. He gestures for him to sit on the couch and then disappears into the kitchen for a minute. Jordan can hear him shuffling about and when he comes back, his cheeks are red and he seems out of breath. “I was gonna wait to do this, but –”  


“Do what?” Jordan asks. He laughs nervously, chest tightening in fear. He’s got no idea what’s going on.  


“Will you –” Virgil asks, producing a black velvet box from behind his back. _Too long to house an engagement ring_ , a voice at the back of Jordan’s head says. Virgil opens it to present a key. “Will you move in with me?”  


Jordan’s mouth gapes open.

“It’s just –– I know it’s only been six months,” Virgil continues, rambling nervously. He’s picking at his nail beds and it looks painful, a spot of blood bubbling to the surface, but Jordan is still in too much shock to speak. “But I really, really love you. Like, more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life, and I don’t expect you to say that back because you were _married_ and that’s a huge thing but – I hope you understand. I hope you know, even vaguely, what I mean. I’ve thought about this a lot. You... you’re the person that made this house my home. I didn’t do anything – it was all you. And you’re everywhere: in the wallpaper that you picked, and the carpet that you picked up from the shop, and the furniture you helped me put together. You’re in the candles that you insisted I need because the drawers in my bedroom looked too empty, and the cushions that I bought because you offhandedly said you liked them when we were in John Lewis. 

“You are this house, Jordan. And – and we can turn the big spare room into a bedroom for your girls, for when they come and stay over. We’ll paint it pink and get them bunkbeds in the shape of a castle and it can all be princess themed, you know they love princesses. It’ll be perfect. All of us... a family.”

Jordan waits until Virgil has caught his breath, holds back his smile.

“Are you done? Then yes, I will move in with you,” he says. He agrees with everything Virgil just said – this house is _theirs_. Jordan feels more at home here than he does in his own apartment. “Although I would have said that without the big, cheesy rant, so...”   


“Shut up,” Virgil says automatically, but he drags Jordan to stand with one hand and pulls him in for a tight hug. They both pretend not to notice the wet drag of his eyelashes against Jordan’s neck. “I love you. I love you _so_ much.”   


“I love you too, you big softie,” Jordan hums, kissing the side of his head. He pulls back just far enough that he can look at Virgil’s red, damp cheeks. “Are you wearing odd socks again?”   


“Yes,” Virgil admits breathlessly, and they both laugh.  


It’s not what Jordan was expecting, but it’s perfect. It always has been. 

And long may it continue. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [georginiwijnaldum](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/) xo


End file.
